


In Cups Of Coffee

by theprincesjester



Series: How Do You Measure A Year? (Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes) [Seasons Of Love] [2]
Category: Gattaca (1997)
Genre: Gen, M/M, i got really into making my tea one day, i have no explanation for myself, no elephants (metaphorical or otherwise) were hurt in the making of this fic, so now we have this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26618080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprincesjester/pseuds/theprincesjester
Summary: Vincent is sure that it’s a testament to their companionship, how easily he can go about making Jerome--Eugene--whoever--his tea, and know with a not-quite-surprising amount of confidence that it’s made to his tastes.
Relationships: Vincent Freeman & Jerome Eugene Morrow, Vincent Freeman/Jerome Eugene Morrow
Series: How Do You Measure A Year? (Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes) [Seasons Of Love] [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900369
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	In Cups Of Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> (okay, technically it's cups of tea, but whatever. same point.) 
> 
> (...maybe i'll write another chapter, where there's actual coffee)

The teabag bleeds a warm brown into the hot water. He drops the spoon in before stirring, then waits a few minutes for it to steep. He adds a bit of milk and sugar before waiting a moment to let it cool down. 

Vincent is sure that it’s a testament to their companionship, how easily he can go about making Jerome--Eugene-- _ whoever _ \--his tea, and know with a not-quite-surprising amount of confidence that it’s made to his tastes. There’s no hesitation, no second thoughts, between the two of them--at least, in almost every regard. There was an ever-growing elephant in the room that they were both avoiding, as though it would hurt less if they ignored it. 

He carries two cups, one for himself and the other for his companion, and makes his way to where Eugene is waiting. He’s near a window, the sun dappling the ground and the man. He doesn’t turn as Vincent approaches, lets him announce his presence on his own. 

Vincent feels as though there’s something different now. He finds himself unsure of what to do about it, though, still ignoring the obvious elephant in the room, the near-crushing weight, as he sits next to him and hands the tea over. Vincent takes a sip of his own, scrunching his nose at the bitter taste. 

The two sit in silence as Eugene drinks his tea, Vincent avoiding finishing his own. 

“Have you considered the weight of the stories we’ve grown up hearing?” Eugene eventually breaks the silence, and for once, there’s a hidden sort of unsurety—Vincent can catch it simply because of how well he knows the other, because he’s listening. It’s a subtle avoidance of the topic weighing on both minds, and it works. “And the music. All of it,” 

“And what’s brought on this introspection?” Vincent allows himself a just-barely-there grin, watching in his peripheral vision as Eugene jerks a shoulder up in a shrug. 

“I don’t know that it’s ‘introspection’ so much as it is I’ve been reading. And rereading. And rereading again.” he pauses. “Have you heard of Bluebeard?” 

“Not much,” Vincent admits. Jerome lets out a puff of air from his nose in a not-quite-laugh. 

“Well, there’s not too much to miss with that one,” He decides. “Man with a blue beard has trouble getting married, when he does finally marry all his wives disappear. He ends up getting married for a final time and forbids his wife from going to a certain room. Bluebeard leaves their house, she goes to the room to find that he’s killed all his past wives. He returns, finds out that she’s gone into the room, and declares that he must also kill her. She waits in a tall tower for her brothers to come, and they kill Bluebeard.” he summarises the story, and Vincent can only nod. 

He hesitates before speaking, but he eventually says, “That sounds dark, doesn’t it? Especially for a kid’s story,” 

Eugene shrugs. “It’s the grimmer fairy tales. Besides, it’s not meant to be happy. Shit happens in life, and they figured kids would be aware, I guess.” 

“Should I be concerned?” Vincent grins, just barely, meaning the words more than he intended.  _ At least Eugene hadn’t mentioned anything else _ . 

Eugene considers for a moment. “No.” he decides, taking a sip of tea. 

“Good, so you’re not planning to kill me in my sleep, or anything,” Vincent regrets the joke almost as soon as he makes it, realising what his words imply a millisecond too late. Thankfully, Eugene only lets out a puff of air in a not-quite-laugh, shaking his head. 

“No. Unless  _ you _ have certain plans I have been left unaware of,” Eugene carefully traces his fingers along the cup, sighing before looking sideways at Vincent. 

And as Eugene sits there, sun illuminating his face, dressed in that damned waistcoat, looking at Vincent as though he’s a Something Special that he is amazed to be allowed to gaze upon (but not without mirth—of course not, after all, they’re knee-deep in a horrible, painful joke now), Vincent realises that he is completely, horribly,  _ fucked _ . 

“We should go out somewhere,” the words are tumbling out of Vincent’s mouth before he can get a good hold on them, fumbled and an ambiguous invitation. He has barely even stopped to be cautious, which is so unlike him that he can see Eugene visibly turn the offer around in his head, tasting it on his tongue for a brief moment. Vincent looks down into his cup, as though willing it to give him some form of strength, before he takes another drink of the tea. “I mean, if you want. I know of a place that has good coffee. We don’t have to.” he amends, and Eugene appears to relax at the faux-wariness. They both know they can’t afford to get caught, but—

Vincent finds that, when he searches deep inside himself, he wishes that they didn’t have to be quite so cautious. Eugene nods, after a moment. 

“Yes. Coffee sounds decent.” and there still is something going unacknowledged between the two of them, burning and shaking like a newborn deer learning to stand. 

They finish their tea in mostly-silence, and Vincent feels as though this bubble they’re in will burst the moment he tries to move from where he’s sat next to Eugene, but…

“Here, I’ll take it back,” he shifts his hold on his cup, making it so that he can hold both, and then— 

Eugene pulls him down, fingers grasping Vincent’s shirt, he can feel his breath ghosting over his face, and Vincent’s eyes are screwed tightly shut because he feels almost afraid, and he’s sure that the elephant is about to be beaten out of the room along with their friendship tied to its back, dragged along like some worthless thing—

The press of lips against his is quick and painless. He can almost feel the metaphorical elephant peeking back into the room before finally going, ambling out and without great show. Eugene’s grip loosens fractionally, fingers just-barely smoothing the fabric he had crumpled when he had grabbed Vincent, and Vincent feels hyper-aware of everything around him now. He can hear Eugene suck in a breath. 

“Well, come on, then,” Eugene is quiet, as though sharing some sort of secret. 

And Vincent figures that, in a way, it is some sort of secret shared between just the two of them, because who the hell else are they even going to be able to tell? 

Eugene is still smoothing the fabric under his fingers, as though meaning to try to maybe comfort Vincent? He finds he’s not quite sure, and then—

Vincent starts laughing. 

“What?” Eugene looks simultaneously concerned and unimpressed. 

Vincent gestured vaguely around. “All of this.” he manages, unsure of how to even begin to explain how weird this whole situation is. Eugene smiles, and Vincent is sure that his smile alone would be enough to illuminate whole stars. 

“So that first bit was fine?” he asks. Vincent nods, attempting to compose himself, and then he almost surges forward, another press of lips but this time he initiates it, and he thanks a god he doesn’t believe in for the side table that Eugene puts both cups on. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that first bit was fine. I was just. God, imagine trying to explain this to someone,” and Vincent almost starts laughing again, feeling somewhere between Almost-Hysterical and Weightless after the way the bubble  _ shattered _ , leaving in its wake something… different. A  _ good _ different. Eugene is smiling again, and shaking his head as Vincent looks down at him. 

“It’s a rather good thing that we can’t, even if we wanted to, then, isn’t it?” 

Vincent nods, moving to straighten himself and grab the two empty cups. “I’ll be right back,” he calls as he goes back to the kitchen, rinsing both cups under the water and watching as they overflow. 


End file.
